


Now & Then

by blivengo



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Based On a D&D Game, D&D Backstory, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Fantasy, Gen, RPG, Roleplaying Character, Science Fiction & Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 12:36:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14977292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blivengo/pseuds/blivengo
Summary: A druidic adventurer reflects on his past, his master, and, specifically, moments that shaped him into who he has become.





	Now & Then

Now –

Theldanon sits facing the base of an ancient tree. His legs are tucked beneath him, shoulders relaxed, arms resting haphazardly in his lap. His head is pitched back as he gazes sightlessly up the nearly unending trunk. He longs to open his eyes and behold the asymmetric serenity of branches bending every which direction to catch even a moment more sunshine, their leaves dancing in the subtle breeze, but something’s telling him not to; rather, someone. He isn’t here, no – in fact, he may no longer walk this plane, it’s been untold cycles since Theldanon departed – but the voice of his druidic master, Thornpaw, echoes in his mind:  _not just yet, young one, linger a while longer in the unknown_.

Then –

Theldanon trudged through the thick, decaying foliage of a shadowed forest. It was midday, but the densely-leafed boughs overhead made it appear as though dawn bled directly to dusk. His master had sent him on the monotonous errand of gathering kindling for the fire. Theldanon didn’t necessarily mind this chore, he was always happy to be in nature and it gave him time to be alone with his thoughts, but he’d been hoping to learn a new spell today – if he had his way he’d be learning and practicing new spells every day. Instead, he was engaged in the decidedly non-magical, laborious routine of picking up sticks.

Theldanon sighed and tightened the leather strap around his bundle before leaning it against a rough-barked tree. He mimicked stretching and nonchalantly looked over his shoulder in the direction he’d come. His master and their campsite were both lost from view. As an added precaution, he put the width of an older tree between himself and the path toward camp. After several nervous glances every way but up, he bent down to one knee, the weight sinking his bare, tarnished bronze skin inches into the soft carpet of leaves to the solid earth below. He squeezed his lids shut and pictured a tiny flame coalescing between his palms. He cupped his hands to his mouth and whispered the incantation he’d heard his master utter hundreds, maybe thousands of times into them. Theldanon swore he felt warmth there, but when he opened his hands not even a tendril of smoke escaped them. He clinched his teeth and grimaced in frustration, then brought his more rigidly-cupped hands to his lips, not whispering this time but speaking the incantation into them loudly – a strange, raspy hiss echoed from his hands, and he felt the sting of magical fire scorching his skin. Theldanon winced and instinctively spread his hands away from the flame between them. Freed from its prison, the magical fire found easy fuel in the dried leaves and twigs that littered the forest floor and began to spread, cracking and popping as it threatened to engulf the entire wood where Theldanon and his master lived.

Just then a clap of thunder sounded from too close above. Theldanon looked up just in time to see a wave from nowhere come crashing down on him and his botched spell. He sank to both knees, his chin pressed to his sternum, loose strands of soaked, dark hair clinging to his forehead. He took a couple deep breaths, watching drops of the impossible water slide off his nose and get swallowed up greedily by the singed ground below, then forced himself to look up the trunk of the old tree to where a small sparrow perched awkwardly on a leaf stem. The bird seemed to be grinning down at him.

“I’m…I’m sorry, master,” Theldanon said, defeatedly. There was no audible reply, but the sparrow ruffled its feathers and shook, as if fresh from a bird bath. “I thought I could do it – well, I _did_ do it,” Theldanon paused, looked at the devastation he’d caused, and considered how much worse it could have been, “but I did it all wrong.”

At this, the sparrow dove straight down from its perch like a falcon about to give its talons purchase in the back of a rodent. Soundlessly, just before the small bird made impact with the ground, it ceased to be a sparrow and morphed into the pale-skinned, wrinkled visage of Thornpaw. He stood silently for a moment, appraising the situation, and then knelt to meet his student’s face. He stuck out his bottom lip and nodded his head, knowingly. “You didn’t succeed the first time. Then you became upset. When you did succeed, you created angry fire. It was not a friend to you. It hurt you.” With uncanny speed, Thornpaw jabbed both thumbs deep into the now-moist soil, pulled them out, and grabbed Theldanon’s hands, his earth-caked thumbs pressed into his student’s palms. Theldanon almost pulled away involuntarily, but his body quickly realized his burns were being healed.

“That’s…true, master, how did you know?”

“I was here the whole time – but I would have known just the same had I been absent. Had you succeeded the first time, none of this,” Thornpaw released his student’s hands and gestured toward the burnt area around them, “would have happened.”

Theldanon looked at his healed palms, and then into the grinning face of his master, his own brow furrowed in suspicion. “Why were you watching me?”

“Because I knew you were disappointed there would be no spells today.”

Theldanon hunched forward with his hands on his thighs, his look going from suspicious to incredulous. “And how did you know that?”

“Because you’re always disappointed when there are no spells,” Thornpaw said, matter-of-factly.

“Well what’s wrong with that?” Theldanon sat up straight, his hands moved to his hips. “I’m good at spells, you know what I can do, just teach me to do it right!” Without realizing it, his voice had become loud and demanding.

“Not just yet, young one, linger a while longer in the unknown.”

Now –

“Yes, master,” Theldanon whispers to his memory, unconsciously closing his eyes more tightly. He halfheartedly wonders how many times he heard that phrase over the uncounted years, but it would be folly to even guess – it had been Thornpaw’s mantra whenever Theldanon tried to advance faster or do more than his master intended, which happened to be quite often. But why is he hearing it now? Has Thornpaw entered the dream, and this is his way of reaching out to convey some kind of message? Is it about the quest? _Am I so focused on my elusive destination that I’m overlooking the journey?_

Another thought occurs to him and sours his contemplative expression:  _what if this is but some demonic fiend trying to throw me off my guard?_ Theldanon, eyes still closed, slowly reaches for his crooked wooden staff, ready to imbue it with the power of nature, turning a nearly harmless walking stick into a magical weapon.

 _Not just yet, young one, linger a while longer in the unknown_.

Then –

Theldanon strode alongside his master in a part of the forest he had never been – thick with brush and briars, buzzing with the sounds of all manner of insects, birds, and scurrying furred creatures, but with a distinct odor of death hanging heavy in the air. The young druid was both nervous and excited about what this could mean. He hoped they’d come to avenge whatever the stench was emanated from by defeating whatever caused it to be so, but he was wary that he might not be up the challenge. So far in his young life, he’d never faced anything with the intent to kill and kill alone; while he had been the reason many a rabbit and squirrel had left this plane, it was always out of the necessity of hunger, never for sport, or revenge. His mind told him he was ready for anything, and that he would face whatever foul beast lurked in these uncured woods with steadfast determination and resilience, but his heart whispered that he wasn’t ready for the burden of so viciously putting out the fire of life. He began to wonder which notion, head or heart, was right, and what part choosing would play in his ongoing story when his master pressed his palm to Theldanon’s chest, a wordless gesture that meant stop and focus.

Theldanon rotated his head slowly, as if admiring the view, but his eyes darted wildly, aggressively trying to find the reason Thornpaw had stopped them. After several moments of not noticing anything, he was beginning to suspect it’d been a false alarm when his master pointed his gnarled walking stick with the intricate eagle carved at the top toward a high tree branch and said, in a low, growl-like tone, “there.”

Theldanon gasped. He couldn’t help it. He had never seen such a sight:  a majestic, aged doe with her hooves tied together on either side of a branch so she hung there as if to be carried a distance. All four of her legs had been broken, and her throat had been roughly slit in such a way that pain and suffering was evident. Despite this apparent trauma, there was no blood on the deer nor anywhere in the area. Theldanon wanted to scream and be sick at the same time. He wanted to rage and to mourn. Most of all, though, he wanted to leave, but he knew his lesson hadn’t been to discover this tragedy and simply let it stand. No, something was to be done, but what he had no idea. Unable to stopper his emotions any longer, tears began to escape his eyes and he looked up at his master, helpless.

“You are wise to weep, Theldanon, this is a somber occasion.” Thornpaw brushed his pupil’s cheek with the back of his fingers and gripped his shoulder. “I did not know what we might find when we ventured out, only that there was imbalance, and imbalance is never good.” He patted Theldanon on the back and continued, “come, she does not belong to air, let’s bring her back to earth and let her rest.”

Theldanon fell in step behind his master, keeping his head low, his still-watery eyes glued to his feet as they crossed the distance to the grotesque scene. The buzzing he’d noticed earlier intensified as they drew close – carrion bugs had no qualms with how respectfully a carcass was treated, they simply wanted to eat. But whatever had done this had not. There was no sign of any attempt to clean or properly butcher the animal, and she hadn’t been hung to keep other carnivores away for a short while before she could be retrieved. This was nothing more than a vulgar display, something was saying, “I can kill, violently, just look and see, and I will do it again.” Theldanon’s anger began to boil inside him. Then, without warning, a cool rush of fresh, fragrant air blew past them, mussing Theldanon’s untied mass of hair and causing goose pimples to rise on his skin.

He peered up through the tangle of his dark mane and saw that Thornpaw was standing with his eyes fixed on the doe, whispering an unknown incantation with his walking stick held aloft. Following his master’s gaze, he watched as the magical wind cleared away the ravenous insects and lifted the deer gently from her place on the branch. At the exact instant the doe began to plummet toward ground, Thornpaw leapt into the air, his outstretched arms becoming the great wings of a gargantuan, eagle-like bird, his feet shifting into menacing talons. Theldanon stood gawking in utter disbelief – he’d never seen his master transform into something so massive. If this had been a tale told over the fire some evening, he’d never have believed it to be true. Yet here he was watching in awe as the huge avian that was Thornpaw swooped up and grasped the doe in his threatening talons as gently as a sculptor lightly shaping clay. When he laid her to earth it was like a feather hitting a bed of hay, and as quickly as he shaped himself into the mystical creature, he was back as himself, kneeling by the doe, patting her head like a father would a child he’s just put down for a nap.

Theldanon could scarcely contain himself, “Wha-what will we do now, master? Shall I dig a grave for her?”

“No, Theldanon,” his master said, looking up and grinning slightly in appreciation of his student’s thoughtfulness. “She is returned to earth as she would have been had she died in nature’s due course. We’ll let her body be sustenance for others until the ground swallows her up to become something else.” Thornpaw gave the doe one last respectful look, sighed, and got to his feet and began walking back toward where Theldanon still stood, dumbfounded.

“But, master,” Theldanon protested, “how’s this stop whatever cruel thing did this from doing it again?”

“It doesn’t,” his master replied as he passed, not bothering to look away from the path.

“Then why bother doing anything at all?!” As it turns out, Theldanon’s anger at the situation hadn’t subsided, and it came forth in this outburst.

Thornpaw stopped and turned, nodding slowly, and drew in a deep, knowing breath. “It’s as I’ve said, she is back to earth, the imbalance has passed. So too let the rage pass from your heart.”

“No!” Theldanon shouted, stamping his foot like a provoked bull. “This isn’t right! We should, we should find whatever did this and they should be made to pay!” Tears had welled in the young druid’s eyes once again.

Thornpaw walked purposefully back to his student, and Theldanon thought for sure he’d earned himself a stern lecture. Instead, his master knelt in front of him and embraced him, clapping him on the back like he was a friend he hadn’t seen in some time. After a moment, Thornpaw stood up, grasped his pupil by both shoulders, and said, “You are brave and true – someday vengeance will find the one that did this, but not just yet, young one, linger a while longer in the unknown.”

Now –

_There is a time for both patience and action. This is a time for patience._

Theldanon draws in a deep, soothing breath. He tastes the sweetness on the air and knows not even the craftiest of demons could mask their scent that well. He is alone in the woods with his thoughts. But no, not alone. Suddenly the forest is alive with the song of sparrows happily flitting so close about Theldanon’s head that he could reach out and pluck them from the air. A broad smile graces the druid’s face that his muscles haven’t made since before he left Thornpaw in his hut, plagued and dying, to strike out into the vastness of the world on a grand crusade to right the innumerable wrongs that are laying siege to the balance of nature. Always with his single goal in mind:  to save his treasured master from the agony that the wicked imbalance is causing him, weakening the seemingly all-powerful mentor to near stasis, his only movement a gradual reaching out to shake the hand of death. Theldanon will not let those two palms touch.

There is a rustling of brush a few paces to his left that’s too significant to be the wind or a small scuttler. Unalarmed but finally sensing it’s time to allow himself sight, Theldanon turns his head, parts his eyelids, and sees a young doe emerging from a covered lie. Fearless, she passes steadily between druid and tree, pausing to look back, her dark eyes piercing into his, beckoning him to follow. Theldanon rises, rested and with renewed determination, and starts off after the doe, once again chasing adventure…

_It’s time now, my friend, go conquer the unknown._


End file.
